Cingedoz Runjosagaoi - The Narratives of the Cingedos

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

 

WHAT IS THE CINGEDOZ RUNJOSAGAOI?

 

The Cingedoz Runjosagaoi translates in Common to ’The Written Narratives of the Cingedos’ and consists of the sagaoz or ‘stories’ written by Cinged regarding their lived experiences. The great volume is kept tucked away somewhere significant, typically within a ring of runestones designating their assembly-place or in a clan hall. This prized possession is currently in the Daelish Isles and can be read by any who happen upon it; the Cinged take pride in showcasing their virtue, bravery, and adventure to any who’d be interested to hear or read of it. Learn more about the Cinged.

 

OUT-OF-CHARACTER NOTES

 

This forum post functions as a record where any Cinged characters can write narratives of something they’ve experienced in-game. Don’t be hasty to post something, rather spend a little more time making quality fiction for others to read. Readers can leave friendly remarks or in-character replies, observing the norms set with regards to what your character can know of a given situation described in any post. Please, as a related aside, do not leave passive-aggressive “in-character” remarks or rude, snarky, or otherwise obnoxious “out-of-character” posts in this thread. Much obliged!

 

 

Cingedoz Runjosagaoi

Sprækjom for "The Narratives of the Cinged"

GESTA CINGEDURON

Flexio for "The Deeds of the Cinged"

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

The rolling canyons and hills flattened towards the narrow peninsula. Gaisorix noticed a singular suspension bridge swinging like a pendulum before him and his party as they approached the edge. The entire party marched on foot save for a single wagon drawn by horses; shields were fixed on all sides of the wagon and spears laid up atop the wagon and poking outward like a schiltrom. They had migrated, slowly, through the Savoyard savannahs until finally reaching the Daelish Isles.

 

The isles stood high up from the surface of the sea below like raised runestones, each island pockmarked with uneven terrain or covered from corner to corner with an unorganized layout of buildings and battlements. A lone figure walked across the bridge towards the Cinged men and women. Gaisorix squinted his eyes, bothered by a gusty breeze and sea spray, and found a cheery man with a ruddy face and an unassuming gait making quick work of crossing and meeting the Cinged on the opposite end of the bridge. Gaisorix approached the Daelishman, looking him up and down once and deciding to introduce himself first.

 

“Lo! Anuanek Gaisorix. Hwaet anuanju?” Gaisorix inquired in his tongue. The Daelishman shot him a quizzical look that went past Gaisorix’s shoulder and made the closest Cinged standing behind Gaisorix chuckle under his breath. An amateur move forgetting to speak in Common.

 

“‘Fraid I don’t speak that language jus’ yet,” the Daelishman replied warmly. He held out his arms, welcoming Gaisorix to embrace him.

 

“My apologies, I’ve spoken only my native tongue while we journeyed to your Isles,” Gaisorix confided, pausing before finishing his sentence with the word kinsman. The two men embraced, patting each other strongly on both backs and shoulders before separating.

 

"Gowthur Douglas m'cousin, a pleasure to meet you!" Gowthur introduced himself, holding Gaisorix at arm's length and smiling all the while. Gaisorix motioned for the others to join in crossing the bridge back over to the Daelish Isles.

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

This new contract fluttered with the breeze that ran through the tavern within Daeland. Gaisorix walked in, resting his francisca axe on one of the many tables as if saving his spot before pacing over to read the parchment. He brushed a forefinger against the bottom of the pinned document to keep it from flapping to and fro. He let out a hefty sigh as his mind travelled through the recent events he had been part of; he whistled for one of his family members to fetch a new parchment and a quill.

 

He picked up his axe and took his place at the table of his choosing. He sat down and stretched himself before turning to the gathered items he had requested. He kept away from drink in order to keep a clear mind and strong memory; he scribbled away with fine penmanship against the parchment and gruffly recalled his writing to those within earshot.

 

"To that most daring of Dwarves whom I gave chase to the Stone Tower

This short saga is written to you whose horse rode a lightning bolt

To that loyal soldier doing his duty under the banner of Mountain's Power

We had raced from Providence to Urguan, you upon that swift colt

I had not seen such quickness in the Dwed as I had seen that day

You who had the Elf blow that most ominous of warhorns

Pardon me from knocking you from your saddle by the way

As your warhorn struck dust from settling, as the dead mourns

That most furious trumpeting, I bid you forgive me for our skirmish

We now fight on the same side it appears, my shield and axe

Will assist you, not lay an edge on you anymore"

 

With an embellished signing of the short saga, a retelling of battle and conflict in the tradition of the Cingedoz, he left the tavern with one of his relatives. They both made short time crossing the suspension bridge over the crags beneath Daeland and packed their baggage atop their horses. They set off to deliver the missive to the Stone Tower, Gaisorix hoping the details of the retelling would make it to the right dwarf.

 

Spoiler

In response to a current contract between Daeland and Haense

 

 

 

Gaisorix receives word of the missive, having found it in printed form in one of his many travels through Elysium and its surroundings. Though the noun Ithican escaped his knowledge, he decided to bring the contained information back to his kin. Elysium, though far from Daeland, deserved its place as neutral soil since they never bore witness to any of their citizens committing banditry nor military action on the roads between Oren and Urguan. It made sense to the Cinged to permit a place to serve as safe haven for those not directly involved in war. The kinsmen of the Cinged committed the town's name to memory, swearing to each other not to come near in times of raiding and warring.

 

Spoiler

In response  to Elysium announcing its neutrality in the current war.

 

 

 

Gaisorix hal'Daelduron entered the inn at Karosgrad with a parchment detailing the new contract between the Daelish and Haense tucked beneath his flaxen tunic. The new turn of events made travelling through the Attenlund possible and he felt the adventurous urge to visit a land only known from past conversations. He passed through the entranceway, looking around and studying the multitude of tables and the throngs of people sitting around them. Some gave him a dismissive glance as if to indicate they had no room for him and some offered empty chairs and warm words; he decided to fall in with a crowd discussing the recent remarks from their Alderman.

 

Everyone exchanged greetings, Gaisorix learning of their allegiance to Haense and they learning of his background as one of many mercenaries under contract by the kingdom, Gaisorix continued to listen to their conversations ruminating on the causality and reasons for the current war. Context, to the Cinged, helped explain the motivations of the primary actor of this war.

 

Spoiler

In response to The Causes of War | A Haeseni Perspective

 

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

The countryside of Oren, with its labyrinthine turns and twists, required a couple rides to commit any specific path to memory. That is the first truth that Gaisorix learned as he raided hearth, home, and pilfered the hopeless traveler on the roads of the Imperial frontier. The first region he became familiar with is that of the Westerlands, of New Esbec, and Ephesius. He opted to stay off the road and decided to take the first right off the Providential Highway where the sign directed and read Mount Anthor. Gaisorix galloped around a small sand quarry, making sure to keep his horse clear from the gaping chasm and found a ridge overlooking the next fork that split between Redenford and Ephesius.

 

He slowed his steed's gait as he made the climb up onto the ridge; he couldn't risk giving notice to any who travelled the road past the ridge. Dusk veiled him well enough as he made his way over the ridge and he could finally scan the road ahead that led to Ravenmour. He found an elf nonchalantly pacing down the road towards Ephesius. Gaisorix withdrew a francisca axe from his saddle baggage and took the scutum shield from his back and strapped it to his other arm. Gaisorix waited until he stood out of the traveller's peripheral vision and rode down the hill and towards the elf.

 

Gaisorix knew that any galloping would alert his victim and chose to break into a charge. He rode past the elf and kicked out his foot, still in the stirrup, and caused the elf to stumble. Gaisorix pulled hard on the reins and brought himself to face the elf who began to stand up slowly.

 

"Lo t'ere, where might you be going?" Gaisorix interrogated, his axehead tilted outward and held to his side.

 

"Who are you?" the elf countered levelly.

 

"Anuanek Gaisorix hal'Daelduron, hwaet anuanju?" Gaisorix asked snidely; he translated his statement to Common and asked the elf his name.

 

"Cain Thelin of Ronam, vassal of Urguan," Cain replied. He took a posture hiding his left hand away from Gaisorix, but the metallic sparks that seemed to spit forth from his palm like that from a lit fuse of dynamite could not be hidden. Gaisorix looked entranced for a moment, he raised his francisca over his head as a sword protruded and fit snugly into Cain's grasp.

 

"Wait! Eh've no trouble wit' you," Gaisorix cautioned, hoping to defuse the situation. Ronam doesn't sound familiar, but I can't risk potentially breaking the contract. He knew that Urguan and Haense, the latter being the kingdom that contracted with the Daelishmen, had an alliance and knew better than to potentially provide reason for the severance of the contract.

 

"Any vassal of Urguan is safe with me," Gaisorix doubly confirmed as he lowered his francisca axe. He watched as Cain's sword seemed to fall away, its particles slowly withering like paper being shredded into smaller and smaller pieces.

 

"Worry not Gaisorix, I am merely hoping to spy on the town of the Imperial Elves," Cain remarked. Gaisorix brought his horse closer and reached over to dust off Cain's shoulders. The two traded farewells and went their separate ways; Cain travelling down the road to Ephesius and Gaisorix riding back up the wooded ridge from whence he came.

 

 

Spoiler

Good RP @JustGrim

 

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

War required expenditure, both money and resource, and the duration of the war decided the amount of both spent. This is simple arithmetic to any people and provided impetus that encouraged even more goods to flow as coffers needed to be replenished. Gaisorix was no stranger to this arithmetic and found himself in need of recovering the wealth spent in arming his fellow Daelish with both the arms and armor necessary to make them competitive in the field of battle.

 

Gaisorix hitched a wain to his horse, a meager cart fashioned from oak and with a sparse linen canvas stretched over the cart's bed. A few Daelishmen helped him in loading up bottled jugs of tea stopped with corks with hay stuffed between each jug to provide cushion and prevent the jugs from impacting against each other. White Bear Tavern. Gaisorix thought to himself, remembering the name of the tavern which he meant to escort the goods to. Elysium. He knew that his travels would lead him through central Almaris and decided to pack extra javelins into his saddlebags.

 

The conflict between Oren, Urguan, Haense, and Norland meant that the roads would either be patrolled by marching armies or beset by raiders. He took his chances and decided to travel by day; he knew he'd have an easier time gaining passage if stopped by an army that had designated objectives than by raiders who had none save for taking coin purse or possession. Gaisorix set out from the Daelish Isles, crisscrossing from San Luciano to Caer Raewyn, then onto a wide-deck ferry to Urguan. Within the dwarven domain, he felt reassured as he rode his wain over the snow-peaked mountains and through the various baronies that nestled in the valley below such as Pinemaw and Sedan.

 

The narrow pass of Eastfleet was ahead. I need only make it past Southbridge, hang a left, and ride west past New Esbec. Gaisorix decided to strap his scutum shield to one arm and stash a few javelins beneath the shield as he continued on. The road through Southbridge proved a difficult passage; recent conflict left debris and charred wood littered across the path.He had to get out a dozen times to ensure the wain wheeled clear of anything that could damage its integrity. The horse grew restless as he struggled to scoot or lift the wain; he did all this with the hope of juggling the goods in the wain's bed and prevent them from spilling out.

 

Gaisorix noticed thin strips of wood with nails facing upward replacing the older debris. This is intentional. He looked up and saw a figure ducking away into a thicket, but failing to hide unnoticed. The young man held a long dirk in hand and the side of a wooden box fashioned into a gangly buckler in the other hand. The war introduced a number of families, once peacefully residing outside city walls, to desperation and made many a young man turn to forlorn attempts to scrounge for food and wealth. Gaisorix took his francisca axe and banged it against the boss of his shield. He'd rather scare off the youth than to dash his hopes and his blood against the roadway.

 

Combat is one of many things where the novice and the veteran are easily discernable. The young man lunged at Gaisorix with the dirk held high and the makeshift buckler hovering against his midsection. Fair place for the shield, poor use of the weapon. Gaisorix let the dirk fall against his scutum shield and thrust the boss of the shield into the man's ribcage; the man stumbled backwards with poor footing. The open space between them allowed for Gaisorix to bring down his francisca against the man's buckler, splintered wood sprayed out as the shield collapsed with the axehead burying further and gouging the man's hand. The young man cried out and threw the dirk away; he massaged his wounded hand and continued to stumble away from Gaisorix.

 

"Go now boy. B'God, eh'll let ye' leave an' live provided ye' don't try anything so foolish anymore. Better ye' flee behund' the capital walls than t'try yer' hand at filching ethers," Gaisorix urged. He fanned a hand out, shooing the thief and watching him stumble away and out of sight. He turned his attention to his wain and decided to sweep the remaining caltrops off the road with his feet. Soon, the wain and its master were back on the road heading west through New Esbec.

 

The journey continued through New Esbec and into the forests of Idol's Garden. Gaisorix consulted elven passerby and oriented himself towards Elysium. With jugs of tea in tow, the wain finally reached the gates of Elysium. The portcullis was unremarkable, but curious sights could be seen when you looked through the gates. He slowed his horse before the guard's post and called out for passage. White Bear Tavern. An elven male responded and inquired about Gaisorix's itinerary. Gaisorix informed the elven guard about his shipment and was granted entry.

 

"I work at the tavern and the owner is away. Might I ask what you agreed upon with her?" the guard asked.

 

A fickle thing verbal agreements are, we never spoke of price. Gaisorix tugged away the canvas covering the shipment and revealed jugs of tea to the guard.

 

"Eh've got twelve jugs ov' tea, one wit' a particular spiced brew," Gaisorix offered. The guard inspected the contents from a distance and appeared interested.

 

"T'e lass ownin' t'at tavern tol' me two minas per jug," Gaisorix lied with a pause, then continuing, "but t'is stock il' go bad if unsold. Eh'll drop m'price teh' a mina an' a half fer' yer' kindness." Gaisorix's eyes belied joy as he overheard the elven guard agree to the price and waited as the guard made his way down to the wain. Gaisorix dismounted and disconnected the wain from his steed; he wheeled it over to the elven guard who held out a sack of coins. He exchanged the payment and walked aside while the elven guard picked up where Gaisorix left off and carted the wain the rest of the distance to the tavern. A good day's trade with a neutral party and neutral parties in the current war seemed hard to come by.

 

Spoiler

Good RP @Tannnon

 

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

 

 

Oak trees, then mangroves, then tall grasses cast their reflections in the water. Gaisorix found the reflections a welcome distraction from the monotony of rowing; his arms extending and pulling back the oar handles against his chest with a rhythm. He had no companion on his side of the logboat while Arminius and Lysandros sat on the opposite side to provide their vessel with necessary balance. The two Cinged seated in the fore chatted amongst themselves while scanning the horizon for anything out of the ordinary. Their boat, a modest vessel carved from a stout and lengthy oak and shaped like a slinger's pellet, cut through the shallows with ease and provided the men with speed and maneuverability. They only had themselves dressed in chainmail and their weapons to ferry.

 

The three had managed to keep close to shore as they left Daeland and passed Kal'Darakaan, the vale of Nevaehlen, and old Ando Alur before dusk. The veil of night cast itself over the sky, a gradient between indigo and a hazy grey seemed to slip over the three men as the continued to drift northward. Gaisorix looked ahead at the tapestry as stars and constellations slowly came into view as the night darkened. He noticed out of the corner of his eye a patch that seemed to have the stars plucked out of it and left an endless black. He lowered his gaze to find a growing expanse of land without flora and jaundiced by blight and reached down to draw up some canvas tarpaulins stowed in the floor.

 

"Ye' lot need t'e hide, we all need teh'," Gaisorix whispered frantically as he assigned individual tarps to Arminius and Lysandros. The three of them rocked their vessel lightly as they slid into the floor and crouched underneath their cloaks. The vessel continued forward as Arminius and Lysandros managed to poke their oars beneath the tarpaulins and the paddles back beneath the water's surface. They watched as the starless air loomed in front of them and over the blighted shoreline; the sky looked like a blackboard with invisible chalk tracing aberrant shapes and pointless lines across the surface.

 

"Wot' demonic magick conjured t'at?" Arminius inquired, his mouth agape. The three men spied a Shuul; a creature, though bipedal, that had many features of that of fish and other sea creatures. The Shuul loitered the beach, walking aimlessly until it encountered a second Shuul and began a fight between them. Arminius' attention turned back to Gaisorix, both of them still wrapping themselves in canvas, as he felt a tug on his shoulder.

 

"Bring yer' oars back up inter' t'boat. Eh' wager t'is cretins prolleh' swim in t'is 'ere water too," Gaisorix reasoned. Silently, the oars slipped out of the water and back onto the floor of their logboat.

 

"God only knows what magick men or elves wielded to get this result," Gaisorix mused quietly as the three men laid themselves flat inside their vessel. They both drew the tarpaulins up over themselves and left at least a hole to peek through and peeked they did in hopes to spy even just one star that would indicate they had floated safely past the blight.

 

Spoiler

Introducing two new characters associated with the Cinged, @Cloakedsphere & @MolagBallin

 

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

The lengthy cut of limestone, partially worn by erosion, jutted out like an appendage from the earth. Men worked to cinch ropes at intervals along the length of the great megalith and fastened the other ends of the ropes to a wooden contraption intended to ease the stone down after being completely hewn away from the ground. Gaisorix and others took turns aligning wrought iron nails and striking at them with mallets to knap away at the remaining rock, working to free the prospective runestone. The men stood back as Gaisorix decidedly took the last swing of the mallet; he reeled back as he watched the megalith teeter and fall away from him. Luck. Gaisorix watched as the ropes drew taut with tension and the contraption perform satisfactorily in slowing the fall of the limestone slab.

 

Artisans traded place with the laborers now. The limestone was washed, sanded, and marked for various etchings and engravings. An honor to raise what will keep our stories. Gaisorix crouched down on the balls of his feet as he ate a few morsels passed between the laborers who just finished their task. Time will weather our stories like wind weathers the standing stones. He watched as chisels of different widths and edges chipped away at the limestone; he read letters as the formed at the artisan's hand and inspected patterns being worked into stone. The artisans finally concluded with notching a keyhole towards the top of the runestone.

 

In the time the artisans took to work, the laborers had time enough for a nap and supper. Gaisorix oversaw the transportation of the runestone to its intended destination. The men used the same ropes again, this time with oxen and mules, to stand the runestone back up overlooking the Daelish Isle from a nearby peninsular crag. Arminius had joined the final effort and glanced up to find a beam of moonlight lance the air above and fall off the edge of the crag and into the tide below. The keyhole had been positioned in such a way that the sun, or moon in this case, would shine through and cast single ray. Motes of dust lingered, illuminated, in the air above Arminius and Gaisorix. They both took leave of the remaining Cinged who finished their work and decided to rest beneath the runestone in awe of its stature.

 

"A proper klukarunjoz (runestone) t'mark our arrival back to our kinsmen ov' t'Dael," Gaisorix pleasantly began as he tucked his legs underneath him and crossed them.

 

"Eh' believe we keep our stories tucked away in t'runestone yes?" Arminius asked as he eyed the empty slot hewn into the runestone. The traditions required recollection for some of the Cinged, though all respected it.

 

"Yes, eh'll work on our family's tome an' will keep it in t'at niche inside t'runestone. Write yer' personal sagaoz (stories) inside whenever ye' venture back to t'Dael, write yer' personal victories an' yer' experiences," Gaisorix urged with a shake of a fist.

 

"Our lads an' lasses all 'ave a story t'tell. Some ov' trade, some ov' war, some ov' learnin'," Gaisorix concluded. Gaisorix helped Arminius up and they both spent a moment brushing soil clods and loose grass from their trousers before heading over to the suspension bridge that spanned across the narrow sea to the Daelish Isles. 

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

Gaisorix woke to a stark white ceiling and an elderly monk staring at him over the crook of his nose. What brought me here?  He ran his hands across his unclothed body save for a simple black shroud, folded multiple times and placed uniformly across his privacy. As his fingers brushed against his rib cage, he winced and let out an audible gasp as he felt the handiwork stitching of the Cloud Temple monks. His hands, before his eyes, counted four wounds across his torso and abdomen as the monks lifted him up to a sitting position. His eyes betrayed a certain sense of disappointment that the monk read with a chiding tone to his voice.

 

"Now, all warriors face injury in their lifetime. Only a novice assumes himself impervious," the monk reminded Gaisorix.

 

How did it happen? Gaisorix had no hope of the monk being able to retell how he fell or who felled him. The Cloud Temple monks scour the land long after battles ended and altercations ceased. Gaisorix thanked the monk and began to robe himself completely with the simple tunic and trousers, colorless and plain, that waited for him on the table in his chamber. Those who the monks managed to find and successfully revived could expect nothing more and nothing less than a change of clothing by which a man or woman could feel unashamed in. The monk motioned for Gaisorix to follow as they stepped into the labyrinthine halls that were said to have a thousand separate chambers floor upon floor of the grandiose temple.

 

Gaisorix followed lockstep with the monk and found the entrance, or rather exit for him, crowned with an ornate arch that felt welcoming. What led up to this revival? He loitered at the entrance, staring off into the blank whiteness of one of the columns flanking him. He remembered he had rode north from the Daelish Isles, as he was wont to do, to raid and pillage the Orenlands. He had previous success on the roads to Redenford, Ephesius, and New Esbec and often rode through the vast farms and plantations to reach the Westerlands. That day though, he had found skirmishes throughout the Providential Highway that caused him to flank around east of the highway and remembered finding himself in the company of an unhorsed knight of Sedan and a mounted Ferryman who had become separated from their army.

 

The two of them exchanged quick pleasantries with Gaisorix then decided to return back South at least to Urguan. Gaisorix told the Ferryman to lead their retreat and he rode behind the unmounted knight. The skirmishes remained off of the Providential Highway which allowed the three of them to continue unmolested for a few miles before they stopped someone travelling towards Providence.

 

"Slow down there," the Ferryman called out to the approaching Elf. Gaisorix found himself face to face again with Cain Thelin, they both greeted one another with confounded voices.

 

"Eh' know t'is one, he wos' spyin' on Ephesius last we met," Gaisorix reassured the Ferryman and Sedanite, lowering an outstretched hand as he watched them unsheath their blades halfway. Cain looked at Gaisorix with relief. Whether he was pleased with Gaisorix's honesty or merely at the chance to escape an uneven confrontation, the three of them gave Cain space to pass through. Cain paced around Gaisorix and followed the highway, unaware that Gaisorix had turned around.

 

"Wait!" Gaisorix called out excitedly. Cain turned to face him again.

 

"Last we met, t'at thing ye' did wit' yer hand, wot' wos' that?" Gaisorix inquired, his eyes told of intrigue.

 

"It is an alchemical work of mine," Cain answered, doubly relieved as Gaisorix kept the distance between the two of them.

 

"Mind if eh' meet ye' later 'bout learning t'at alchemical science ov' yers?" Gaisorix followed up with anticipation. He broke out into a dumb smile as Cain nodded and agreed. They finally separated and Gaisorix, the Ferryman, and the Sedanite continued South.

 

Gaisorix braced himself against the column that he stared at as he drew a blank. He remembered travelling a few miles further South, closer to Southbridge, but his memory seemed to drift off into a shapeless void. Only a headache resulted as he strained to try to remember any detail that might lead him to his assailant. One time struck down is merely an incident any warrior will face. He leaned close enough to the polished column to use it as a mirror. Two times struck down is merely a coincidence in the life of a veteran.

 

He found a wound, now a scar after healing, that he had missed when he first woke. Three times struck down ought to cripple you. He looked over a pink scar, smooth to the touch, just under his right cheek that ran from ear to chin and had removed the follicles of his beard that had been there previously. Four times struck down, there will be no waking in the grave. His mirror in the column clouded with condensation; his breathe shook with a tinge of anxiety.

 

Spoiler

Thank you for the fun roleplay! @JustGrim @bugbytes21 @Mark2282 @Peralien

 

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Gaisorix approached the eastern gate of Varhelm at a slowing gait. He found the portcullis, thick iron bars welded in a cross-hatch lattice, closed shut with a Farfolk peeking through the grille. The dusk sky had just taken its indigo color, but the gate appeared to have been closed for some time with no guard left manning it. The Farfolk man turned as he heard Gaisorix approach and muttered something about his hopes of acquiring a gift for his wife. Gaisorix paused for a moment, then welcomed the Farfolk to follow him to ride around the walls and find any sally ports in hopes of finding one of them left open.

 

The Cinged and the Farfolk rode hard up and down the slopes that surrounded Varhelm. Gate after gate were shut with no traffic flowing until they reached the northern face of the Norlandish walls. A tiny sally port, barely visible and tucked behind a obscuring line of firs, gaped open and just wide and tall enough to allow passage of man and steed in a single file line. They both passed through and weaved through the foot traffic of Varhelm until they reached the city's plaza that opened up to a semi-circular port. The Farfolk thanked Gaisorix and they found the nearest inn to tie their horses down.

 

"Ye' mentioned yer' in town fer' a gift," Gaisorix remembered, more like reminded his new acquaintance, as he slipped out a few chains fastened to his belt with torcs strung in intervals. He tugged at the bronze armband and loosened the coil enough for it to fall off of its chain. The torc, light in weight, had ornate boar heads on either terminal and reflected light well off its bronze surface. The Farfolk inspected the torc and decided on purchasing it. Fair transaction for a fair fellow. They agreed upon ten minas for the jewelry and Gaisorix instructed that the torc could be worn on the forearm or around the neck.

 

A child closed in on Gaisorix, like a fish following bait, and asked excitedly after the torcs. The Farfolk left Gaisorix to the child's devices with a chuckle as Gaisorix found himself answering enough questions to be a thorough audit of his goods and their quality.

 

"Chil', ehm' here cos' eh' wos' told t'bring these torcs to sell in Norland. Mind pointin' me in t'right direction so eh' can speak to the right person?" Gaisorix asked with pleading in his voice; he knew the child needed but another distraction to expend his youthful energy on. The child paused, either from thought or from hearing such an accent, before turning his attention to the horn that was his lungs.

 

"King Vane!" the child bellowed, over and over again while pacing around like a hot air balloon whose canvas was ruptured and reeling. Gaisorix looked in mock horror, hiding his face each time the child turned his way, and watched as the child wailed. God be good, the child might get me the wrong look from people and not even mean to. The child disappeared into the foot traffic that carried back and forth across the port's piers.

 

"Hail t'ere good man, how are you?" a stately man called out as he separated from the crowds; he had a young girl and a regal woman following him as he approached Gaisorix.

 

"Aye, ehm' in good health. Eh' brought t'e torcs as requested," Gaisorix replied with cheer, repeating the same motion again to loosen four different torcs from their chain and placed them on the table before Vane Ruric and his wife Daria Vildr. The girl looked over the tabletop like a cat ready to paw and pull a mouse. The torcs each had different terminals; one torc bore a falcon's head, one had a boar's head, another had a bear claw that would face down against skin, and the last stood apart with endless knots woven with thin strands of silver wiring.

 

"I'll take the torc with the endless knots for my lady and another with the bear claws for Inga," Vane decided with finality in his voice. Daria beamed a satisfied smile and Inga clapped his hands with zeal. Gaisorix exchanged the two torcs for payment and thanked Vane.

 

"You know we have stalls on this very pier that you can sell from, a small tax collected of course, but might make yourself a pretty profit," Daria proffered.

 

Gaisorix paused, catching himself before responding without thought. Would this be a lucrative venture? 

 

"Eh' presume ehm' under no contractual obligation t'keep the stall for a certain amount ov' weeks lest eh' find trade 'ere not to my benefit?" Gaisorix probed. Daria shook her head to the question. All ventures are risky, no opportunity should be avoided due to risk alone. Gaisorix affirmed his interest in the setting up shop and Darla motioned for him to follow. Vane, Daria, Inga, and Gaisorix perused the various shops and storefronts in Varhelm and Gaisorix finally settled on a shop. He proudly hung a sign, partly in Sprækjom and partly in Common, that read Havelkerd Hal'Cingedoz - Cinged Artisans of the Dael.

 

Spoiler

Much obliged for the fun roleplay @_pr0fit @ImDrippedJr @Diogen @Nestro_Miner

Slight alterations to the chat in-game, but overall same event.

 

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

"Eh' tell ye lad, eh' could ov' sworn eh' seen a spectre!" Gaisorix exclaimed, scooting the tree stump turned stool closer to the bonfire he and his tribesmen coaxed into existence behind their runestone. He hovered his hands just above the reach of the flames as they licked the air and rubbed them, the friction and heat warming them quickly.

 

"Now listen, listen. Eh' came t'the road t'Ephesius as I am like to do and found a young man consorting wit' this ghost. I tell you, damn thing was near transparent and glassy all over like those Haense church windows! The damned spectre made out quick and left his partner for me to approach and approach him I did. He made me out for a raider and we had our skirmish," he slowed as he recounted the next part with a tinge of embarrassment, "that young lad had a lot of energy and somehow managed to pike me off of my horse."

 

Gaisorix glared at the few men who opted to laugh as they listened. He folded his arms and puffed out his chest until they toned down their laughter and turned their attention to his storytelling.

 

"Aye, t'e boy earned his spurs in that one. He decided to bind me and bring me to Ephesius thinking he'd get a fat reward for me," he remembered as the edges of his lips curled into a mischievous smile. He leaned back, boastfully raising his chin and continued, "The lad brought me halfway through their gates before the mistress, turns out t'e tavern owner I was minding to do bus'ness wit' after the war wos' over, stopped him and chided him for being jos' as much ov' a bandit as I wos." The word him dripped with emphasis and he made sure to give a petty harrumph as he recounted the tavern-owner's remarks.

 

"Jos' as well, me and t'e lad actually made amends. He had a good sword arm and a good wit about him. The tavern-owner made me swear oath to keep off the Ephesian roads and to bring her a cask of our mead," he remarked with confident cadence and an assuredness that he did no wrong. One of the Cinged, Uortigernos, let his displeasure sound in his voice as he tut-tuted Gaisorix.

 

"Oh, don't give me shit Uortigernos. We are an honor-bound folk and our word needs to be weighty lest the war turns and we mean to retract our participation. If they know that I kept my word, might be we have an easier time pulling out of the war," Gaisorix retorted.

 

Uortigernos seemed to weigh the rationale of Gaisorix's remarks, tilting his head much the way that scales do. He clearly made peace with what he heard and nodded respectfully.

 

"Gaisorix, ye' better fetch that mead wit' yer' old bones," Arminius taunted. Gaisorix exchanged expletives as he scooted his stool further from the fire; he felt his cheeks grow warm both from shame and the spew of embers.

 

"Ehm' getting old I know," Gaisorix said with a defensiveness in his voice, "I can't fight like I used to, but don't discount all the other actions I take for the betterment ov' m'people." The other men hung their heads with shame and stared into the dying flame before them.

 

"We kid with you, you better stay alive- Keep t'e culture alive an' keep us reminded ov' t'e ways," Arminius offered in a respectful tone. Gaisorix gave him a wink to disarm any guilt he had left for his earlier joke and turned to bank some of the coals so they could loiter the bonfire for a few more hours in the night.

 

 

Spoiler

Fun Roleplay, gg to @fbo for the fun PvP, and to @critter.  Also, I'm introducing a new Cinged @Norgeth. Decided to dial down some of the accented dialogue for easier reading.

 

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Gaisorix disembarked the boat first before the keel met the beach, arching his back as he pulled the boat to shore. Sand filtered through his toes as if strained through a sieve, granules of sand separated further by the hairs of his feet. Uortigornos and Arminius leapt from the boat and gave a helping hand as they skipped ashore. They dragged the boat to a lengthy thicket of bamboo and reeds and left it at the foot of the copse before resuming their march through and out to the other side. They approached a farm that opened up with a series of elegant, but humble cottages constructed in Oyashiman style flanking a narrow street running north to south.

 

Gaisorix and his companions paced between houses, hiding out of view of the street and peaked past sidings and flapping window shutters made of bamboo. They shortly found that the farm was empty with nothing but panda bears and mules loitering the bamboo copses and tilled farmland. They kept far and away from any of the animals to avoid creating a stir and held shields overhead as they marched closer to the wall towering over Yong Ping. Arminius and Uortigernos saw, barely lit and far in the distance, an open portcullis at the city's eastern gate. We'd be identified by either guard or notable if we entered so indifferently through the main thoroughfare. Gaisorix found a port of many piers walking out in the ocean along the southern wall and motioned to return back to their boat.

 

With little effort, the men had embarked again back into the sea and rowed slowly and quietly to the nearest pier and floated beneath it. Paper lanterns and metal ones were spaced decently across the piers and along the raised lip of the port facing south; the men used the lanterns to spy and row from pier to pier until the ended up at the westernmost part of the port. Whereas most ships seemed unique to the Oyashiman style, one low-hulled ship striped in black and grey provided an immediate means to climb aboard. The three men took their time to carefully feel their way along the ship's side and onto the deck with night hiding them. The ship had a row of cannons on either side and the three decided to let the youngest, Uortigornos, leap from the barrel onto the pier and catch the remaining two on their descents.

 

The three successfully landed onto the piers and loitered little before finding the drydock and making their way to one of the shipwrights' structures. Gaisorix was the last to enter, kneading the ache from his knees and peering out different windows to keep an eye on foot traffic. The drydock stretched from sea to the western quarter of the city with no closed gates along the way. Arminius and Uortigornos made their way through the drydock and drew crude maps in a small book, or rather, a crude scrawl explaining turns and landmarks one needed to take to access the city. They returned after a half an hour to find Gaisorix leaning back against a chair in such a way that he sought to pop his back.

 

"Glad we din' take ol' bad-back wit' us," Arminius chimed in as he entered the shack. Gaisorix shot him a rude glare and motioned for the book. Arminius slapped it inaudibly into Gaisorix's left hand and began brushing away graphite residue from his hands.

 

"Alrigh', t'is looks legible enough. Ye' two need t'get t'is back to Gowther," Gaisorix expressed intently. He looked between Uortigornos and Arminius and offered the book to the quickest to ****** it back.

 

"Wot? We leavin' ye' 'ere Gaisorix? We dun' need ye' gettin' caught while we are absent," Uortigornos remarked with unease. He paused to recollect his thoughts before continuing, "Eh' already remember ye' gettin' caught in Ephesius an' eh' dun' t'ink ye'll be meeting good luck 'ere."

 

"You two 'ave nothin' t'worry 'bout. T'is city is a maze enough t'at they'll be lost if they happen upon me and make me out for who eh' am. T'e memory is strong wit' me an' eh'll remember a dozen escapes if t'ey give chase," Gaisorix boldly impressed on the two. His cheeks folded with his smile, giving him an air of mischief and thrill.

 

Arminius and Uortigornos glanced at each other with a look that belied their concern and then made their way out of the shack; they each slapped and gripped Gaisorix's shoulder to drive home the point that they worried for him. Gaisorix turned and tucked his tongue against the side of his cheek as if weighing whether to part a cheeky response in farewell, but decided against it. He turned towards the drydock and inspected the entanglement of scaffolding that presented a means onto the towering rooftops of Yong Ping.

 

Spoiler

Part I of II. This particular narrative is melting together a few instances of RP in Yong Ping.

 

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Porcelain tiles, painted black over white, clinked against the roof's rafters like the presses of a piano key. Gaisorix trotted across the rooftop and peered down over the street below. He repeated his movement of leaping from eave to eave, then trotting across a roof until he arrived at a cherry blossom tree that offered a sturdy trunk leaning towards an open-faced balcony of one of the more prominent kabuki theatres in Yong Ping. The smell of brewed tea wafted from the interior of the building and mixed with the scent of partly-blossomed sakuras dangling from the cherry blossom.

 

Gaisorix had bound his scutum shield to his back and kept his cloak tucked beneath it to keep his francisca axe free from entanglement across his belt. He eyed the distance from the thickest offshoot branch of the cherry blossom and the balcony and bent his knees; he prepared to get a running start to his leap and looked through the open doors of the balcony for any motion. In an instant, he bounded across and covered the short distance without brushing the balcony's railing with his feet and landed with arms outstretched to catch himself against the wall adjacent to his landing. He immediately pressed his chest against the wall and leaned enough of his head across the doorway for a single eye to peer through and inside the stately performance hall.

 

"I am glad that you've met someone fit for you. . ."

 

The gossip, from a distinguishably female voice, floated up loudly enough to give Gaisorix pause. The kabuki theatre had multiple floors and he couldn't be certain which floor he crept across and which floor the unassuming partisans occupied. He began to pivot and enter the interior, his eyes alternating gazes between passageways spaced irregularly throughout the hall.  He made it halfway into the interior before a female, swathed in a pink and purple gown whose stitching and form seemed foreign to him, burst through one of the passageways and met him eye to eye. The two of them stood there a pause before the hallway erupted in noise.

 

Woman gave chase to man in this instance. Gaisorix swiftly turned and ran back towards the balcony with the female close on his heels. He gave a small leap, enough for his feet to plant firmly on the balcony's railing, then jumped with greater force to propel him back to the cherry blossom tree he had climbed earlier. The tree shuddered and tossed some of its looser sakura blossoms and buds in the commotion. The branch beneath Gaisorix's feet moaned with the agony of his weight and started to give when the female launched herself in pursuit. He managed to bounce off of the branch before its bark fissured and the female dropped down below with the branch tangling with her gown.

 

A thud called for people to peer through window shutters and through propped doors, though they could not see Gaisorix scrambling along the rooftops. His female pursuer ran parallel with him along the roadway, powdered face flush with anger enough to color the white foundation scarlet. Ceramic and porcelain tiles from the rooftops shot out over the gables of certain roofs and broke against the road like clay grenades. Gaisorix looked back to notice the female slowing her pace as her feet dodged tile shards and shrapnel ricocheting upward.

 

The welcome sight of a port pier greeted Gaisorix as he continued along the rooftops. The water below the pier required a daunting vault through the air to land with a splash as opposed to a back-wrecking thud against cedar plank or road masonry. His eyes traced the distance and helped him line up an appropriate leap so that he could return back to the Southern Sea; he looked back one last time for any cause for reconsideration. The female had continued her pursuit, but this time with a pair of guards with swords unsheathed and demanding his acquiescence to be arrested. He returned his attention back to his chance for escape and broke out into a steady run; he noticed how the seawater invited him with a gentle tide enough for him not to break neck or be swallowed in stormy current.

 

"Devil, back to the sea!" the female exclaimed as Gaisorix leaped from his last eave with a heave and dropped down inches away from port pier and into the seawater below. Water spat up and onto the pier as he dived and the trio slowed until they looked into the water in a vain search for any glimpse of Gaisorix.

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Hawthorns and yews flanked both sides of the narrow passage that Gaisorix took step by step. The passage, narrow and steep, climbed what felt like miles through rugged elevation that was typical of southern Norland. The environs was silent save for the occasional birdsong or small rodent passing through tufts of tall grass. Gaisorix decided to travel at first light and had much of the remaining dusk poured into the lows of the valleys to conceal his passage. He learned in Varhelm about aboriginals who lived east of Dunrath and he had no intention to cross paths with these indistinguishable foes.

 

The trek upward, over, and down from the mountain ridge left Gaisorix's thighs tight and feet throbbing from wear. The town of Dunrath looked like a slab of stone in the distance, its greys overpowering the blues of its tartan banners, but it was a welcome sight and proved enough to will Gaisorix the rest of the way to his destination. The portcullis came into distance within a half hour and the racket of the Rathonian townlife came within earshot.

 

"Tha thu Dailach!" called a prominent voice from the guard post positioned adjacent to the portcullis.

 

Gaisorix's forehead creased with confusion, but snapped up to hide his consternation. He couldn't help but loll his tongue for a moment as if trying to taste a response.

 

"Ehm Gaisorix lad, well met, ehm' only tryin' t'visit an' learn enough t'decide whether eh'll be stayin' an' livin' in t'ese parts," Gaisorix mustered, a woeful response lacking any Rathonian vocabulary.

 

"Aye, Daelish you must be!" the interrogator announced. Gaisorix's eyes widened at the correct approximation of his origins which earned a satisfied guffaw before letting Gaisorix through. Gaisorix uncinched his baldric and turned in his baldric with falx scabbard attached. He turned on a heel, looking down each street to orient himself. On one end, a forge coughed and a tavern rattled with raucous laughter; on the other end, houses remained closed and shuttered in the early dawn.

 

"Lad, welcome to Dunrath. You are a welcome sight for sore eyes waking this morn," a man greeted as Gaisorix turned back towards the still-raised gate. A blonde-haired man, ten years younger, stood before Gaisorix in red uniform save for the blue beret rested on his head.

 

"T'ank ye' fer' warm welcomes an' din' mean t'stir ye' from yer sleep seh' early," Gaisorix replied warmly.

 

"It is a non-issue Daelander," the man affirmed. Gaisorix realized that the man before him was the same man who gave him entry and thanked him.

 

"How goes t'affairs ov' Dunrath? Eh' mean to possibly make residence 'ere," Gaisorix inquired.

 

"We have our peace and suitable lands in this valley, though the aboriginals just past the mountains to our east give us trouble kidnapping and harming those that travel beyond the walls," the man answered, pausing before adding, "I am Dughlas by the way, best a name go with the face."

 

"Aye, eh've left t'Dael an' wish to move to a more populated town seh' eh' can help. If ye'd like, eh' can raise a small dun from t'lake to yer' stables facin' that mountain ridge ye' mentioned," Gaisorix suggested with growing enthusiasm.

 

Dughlas looked at Gaisorix, his eyes darting left and right as if comparing words in midair. He placed a forefinger on his lips, weighing his response.

 

"Err- The town is already basically a fort what with our high walls and all," Dughlas expressed slowly.

 

"Neh', a dun in my tongue means wall. Eh' speak Sprækjom, t'e tongue ov' t'Cinged," Gaisorix interjected.

 

"And a dun is a fort in my language," Dughlas quickly added, resolving the verbal impasse. He continued, "Your language sounds very similar to a second language spoken here called Sveasspräk!"

 

The two of them laughed away the abstruse matter of the word carrying different meanings. The languages being so similar cannot be mere coincidence. The two men continued their dialogue as they began to walk past the open gate and towards the loch east of Dunrath.

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Creaking cranes and a cacophony of woodwork welcomed the morning with an industrious melody. Scores of men, including Gaisorix, took to either helping raise and install wooden beams into gaping holes dug into the earth or stacking a variegated series of cut stone into an askew pattern between the installed wooden supports. Workers took turns loitering a nearby campsite complete with a roaring fire and a kettle stood upright and above the fire with stew at a near constant simmer. The labor through the morning resulted in the skeleton of a low wall, stretching from the Loch Fiag's shore east of Dunrath to the city stables between Dunrath and Gransstad.

 

Dusty, flecked with wet clay or moist soil, and fatigued; the men took a long lunch to sup at stew or lay their heads for a short nap. Gaisorix piled squared slats of wood to form cribbing in order to support a tower's pinnacle, eschewing any reprieve from work. Though I might be getting older, I am not willing to slow just yet. A few men broke from the camp kitchen and began to assemble rafters from which a tower pinnacle could be fixed. Within the hour, the site woke back up and the men either tended to the assemblage of a guard tower and worked to transport dry earth by way of wheelbarrows to the back of the developing wall before nightfall.

 

Thff! Thff! Thff! The next few days began with a low drumming carried across the loch as men began packing earth behind the stacked stones and wooden supports. As inches and feet of earth were rammed and leveled with the height of the wall, men scattered across the length of the wall to test their work; an odd sight it was to see men jumping up and down along the wall in the distance! Masons took the remaining assortment of stone and rumble and dressed the top of the rammed earth enough that three men could stand abreast from front to back of the wall at any length of it.

 

On the final day, the laborers used pulleys made of hemp rope with ferrum snatchblocks to raise the finished tower pinnacle. Gaisorix was the foreman and had the foremost task of ensuring the pinnacle rested atop the tower proper without leaning or sliding off and into a bunch of pieces again. He barked and motioned with his hands as if directing an orchestra as men pulled, gave slack, and craned the pinnacle to its final place to be fixed onto a modest tower of wooden construction. The Norlandish mountains gave birth to enough timber to field a thousand towers, a common musing by the new Cinged residents.

 

Gaisorix took his own scutum shield, dressed in green with a black boss, and hung it off the side of the tower facing the road winding from Dunrath to Gransstad. A cheer, though muted by fatigue, followed the decoration of the tower. A fine work of Cinged architecture now populated the new homeland of the Cingedoz: the Jarldom of Dunrath.

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

A runestone toppled, another two raised. One fell outside the Daelish Isles and another two stood upright along the outer walls of Dunrath east of the town proper. Plenty of limestone had been inspected in the mountains that dotted the Rænrland and enough could be hewn away and brought down to the base of the mountain range near the Cinged encampment by way of large carriages or by setting them atop a continually adjusted series of round and rolling timbers stripped of flora and branches.

 

The former ring of runestones used to stand on the edge of the peninsula opposite of the Daelish Isles. One of the runestones still stood to represent the first moment of the Cingedoz' gathering and presented an instance of Cinged craftsmanship for those travelling through the Savoyard lands. The new ring of runestones nestled behind the outer wall south of Ostlandet, commissioned by Dughlas Sutherlann of Dunrath, designated the new grounds by which the Cinged would hold 'thingoz' or assemblies. Arminius, Dumnoric, Gaisorix, and Uortigornos worked together to fashion the intricate markings and engravings on each of the new runestones and saw them brought to their final positions.

 

Gaisorix could yet decide which of the Cinged contributions to the Rathonian countryside he liked better. He had spent more effort on the outer wall and it held more of the significant artifacts of Cinged culture; he personally donated his first crafted 'karnyx' or warhorn to be mounted along the single watchtower that closed off the wall on the northern end. He saw the broad bell of the warhorn, a boar's head shaped in polished wood, reflecting some of the early light each morning he woke. He grew attached to the outer wall for both its peculiar aesthetic as well as its oddly comforting gravity.

 

 

Spoiler

Introducing a new Cinged player, @FallingGuy, maker of great skins!

 

[Ibn Khaldun 7728]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Shadows layered over Gaisorix as he led his warhorse, having dismounted when the slope became too steep, in a series of zigzags up the mountain's face. The heavily wooded slope casted enough shade to protect them from the beating sun overhead, but scorned their ankles with the layer of rocks and boulders strewn across its surface. He couldn't interpret his horse's whinnying, but he ventured to think the horse complained about its fatigued calves as much as he thought to complain of his own. The only reprieve that he could take joy in was seeing the slope flatten and roll as they inched closer to the top of the mountain ridge.

 

Beams of sunlight seemed to balance like a seesaw atop the mountain ridge; a great absence of timber on the other side of the ridge became more apparent as Gaisorix mustered more energy to finish the ascent. The sight of what they found downwind on the opposite face of the mountain ridge set his warhorse into a fright; he wrapped the leather reins more around his hand and paused to gather himself. Though nothing stirred in reply to the warhorse's protest, the ghastly sight of smoke-stained stonework and charred timber framing did enough to halt any movement.

 

Gaisorix scanned over the wreckage that once seemed to be a motte-and-bailey with a few ancillary buildings including a granary, smithy, and stables. The masonry of the motte looked stained in places from the lick of flames and discolored in other places as if besmirched by some foul magic that turned the greys of the stone to Tyrian red. The wood of the bailey palisade, splintered in many places, look charred beyond black and a white dust powdered the stone and wood in places. He looked in horror as, upon further inspection, the dust seemed to flake away before his eyes from lengths of bone littering the rubble. Some of the bones were long across the middle with two knobs on either ends while others looked like they belonged to various animal species.

 

A tug on the rein wrenched Gaisorix off of his feet and he turned around to find his warhorse disturbed at the sight of a _queer phenomenon. He found a spectral substance peel away from one of the discolored stone walls that once was part of the motte. The substance appeared without distinguishable form at first, but slowly formed the shape of an arm with outstretched hand reaching for Gaisorix and his horse. He yanked at his end of the reins and led his horse around and away from the ghastly form and mounted with haste.

 

Violet blended with red in the sky overhead as evening set in. Gaisorix rode through most of the blasted settlement by the time the sun had set; a sign saved from the devastation around it swayed in the breeze just close enough to be legible. The sign read Mercatorii and gave no hints in the following sentences as to its significance. Are they the ones who rendered destruction to this town or were they the ones beset by the scourge who swept through?  He led his horse eastward and saw the glow of a neighboring settlement at the base of the forest floor a quarter of a day's travel ahead. Arichsdorf, to negotiate for my people or to have hands fall on me with disdain. He set off, tucking his lengthy karnyx between his forearm and saddle and grasping it at its mid-length as a small Cinged banner rippled overhead from the bell of the warhorn.

 

 

Spoiler

Odd that the word `_queer` is profanity-filtered especially given that it has a functional meaning as an adjective so pardon the use of _ to bypass that block. I lost the screenshots that this post and a few posts after will be describing, but this roleplay was plenty fun!